WOLVIE'S BAD HAIR DAY part7
by vangiekitty
Summary: The deed is done . Is Logan's hair beyond repair? find out! :)


Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own 'em.  
  
Hey, all these characters belong to Marvel except Rodney who is based on a friend of mine. He's not a beautician, however, he's a CT/MRI tech and a very excellent one at that. He may not work at a salon, but  
he will be more than happy to give beauty advice and be brutally honest about your 'do. You go girl! :)  
  
  
WOLVIE'S BAD HAIR DAY part 7  
  
At the salon, Rogue hustled Logan in at the side door and stood peering around through the   
  
crowd of people, mostly women having their hair done and the stylists working among them. At last  
  
she appeared to see someone she knew.   
  
"Rodney, over here, Sugah!" she called. A slim, stylish blond man strolled over to them and  
  
shook his finger at Rogue.  
  
"Girl, what am I going to do with you? This is the 4th hair 911 this week!"  
  
"I know, Rodney, honey, but this is the worst one yet!" confided Rogue. "We're in desperate   
  
need of your expertice. There's been a terrible accident and my friend here is..." she indicated Logan.  
  
"Disfigured for life." said Logan glumly, finishing her sentence.  
  
"Now, Sugah, don't go dipairin' like that!" pleaded Rogue. "Just put yaself in Rodney's capable  
  
hands- he can fix *anything*."  
  
Looking Logan up and down, Rodney said sweetly, "Yes, handsome, please *do* put yourself in my  
  
hands. I promise you won't regret it." Aside to Rogue he stage whispered, "You didn't tell me he was so  
  
*muscular*, girl!" Turning back to Logan, he continued briskly, "Now, let Rodney see the problem and   
  
we'll decide what to do from there." Logan was somewhat reluctant to remove his pink towel turban but the  
  
stylist whisked it away saying firmly, "Now, honey, what Rodney can't see, Rodney can't fix." The towel at  
  
last came off. "Oh my GOD!" Rodney cried on seeing the offending hair beneath. "What have you done to   
  
it? It sticks out in *points*! What kind of gel did you use to get this effect? But not to worry," he   
  
continued soothingly, "Rodney can fix. A little off the top, a *lot* off the sides..."  
  
"It's not the cut, it's the *color*, Rodney, Sugah." said Rogue desperately as a menacing growl  
  
built in Logan's throat.  
  
"Oh really?" said Rodney, blankly. "But I kind of like that color on you- very bold, very dashing.   
  
Why, with a little trim, it could be Tres Manifique!"  
  
"Oh no, not more French!" moaned Logan. "Everytime somebody speakes French, things go from  
  
bad ta flamin' worse!"  
  
"Well, after all, Honey, it *is* the language of love." purred Rodney. Putting a posseive hand on  
  
Logan's heavily muscled bicepts, he drew the orange haired mutant to a waiting chair. Draping a baby-blue  
  
plastic apron around Logan's neck, he began to pump up the beauty chair which creaked and groaned  
  
in protest at the weight of his adamantium skelaton.  
  
"Now," Rodney said, all buisness, "Since you don't seem to think orange suits you, (although I   
  
disagree- you're so obviously an autumn), what color are we looking for here? Maybe a nice auburn like  
  
your friend Rogue here? I have just the kit to do it and you could even have some beautiful honey   
  
highlights put in..." As he spoke, he was massaging Logan's scalp and twirling tufts of orange hair around  
  
his fingers. They were framed in the large mirror before them and Logan thought glumly about how he had  
  
come to this point, sitting in a beauty salon on a perfectly good Sat. morning with this strange little man   
  
fondling his head instead of riding his harley down the freeway with the wind in his hair. His hair which was  
  
now *orange*. Jubilee. That was how he'd gotten here. He glared at her in the mirror and she blanched   
  
and quickly dropped her eyes. After this was over, Logan promised himself, he was going to take Jubilee in  
  
hand and teach her a lesson she'd never forget. He turned his attention back to Rodney just in time to hear  
  
him say,  
  
"A beautifull platinum blond, I think." His fingers were still burried in Logan's hair. "After all,   
  
that's what you were trying for in the first place, wasn't it? I can always tell when someone comes in with   
  
one of those cheap, do it yourself dye jobs, Honey! So, let's just finish the process, shall we?" And he   
  
turned away, presumably to get the heavy duty hair bleach and finish the process of turning Logan   
  
into a complete *freak*.  
  
*SNICKT*!  
  
Logan had had all he could take for one Saturday morning. Six razor sharp adamantium claws   
  
suddenly sprang out, shredding the cheap, blue plastic apron that covered him from neck to thighs.  
  
"LOOK, BUB," he said testilly to the shocked hairdresser, "I'm already a mutant with an adamantium  
  
skelaton who is possibly over a hundred years old with personality problems and no memory of my  
  
past. I don't need ta look like flamin' Marilyn Monroe on top o' all that!" As quickly as they had appeared,  
  
the claws were retracted. In a somewhat calmer tone, Logan added, "Just get it back ta my normal color,   
  
bub, *black*."  
  
"*Well*," ( Rodney was never at a loss for words for long.) "Ease down, Big Boy! Black is a   
  
dreadfully boring color but I suppose I might as well give you what you want 'cause I think you're gonna  
  
be the last customer of the day." He gestured in the direction of the door where most of the salon's  
  
customers were beating a hasty retreat.  
  
"But Mrs. Strickland," one stylist was calling after a plump, fortyish woman whose hair was done   
  
up in what looked to Logan like little packets of aluminum foil. "That solution has to be rinsed out! Your  
  
highlights will be much too light! You have to stay and let me finish."  
  
"No, no! I'll take my chances, Mona!" cried the woman, rushing pink faced in the direction of the   
  
door. "I've got to go *right now*!" She cast a terrified glace at Logan. He glared back, in no mood to be   
  
polite and a little shriek escaped her as she ran out the door, pink plastic apron flapping behind her like an  
  
absurd cape.   
  
Quite a few of the other customers were leaving too, all of them had witnessed Logan's little scene  
  
since the salon was small and Logan's voice carried quite well.  
  
"Did you see? That hairy little man had knives in his pockets!" whispered one customer to her   
  
friend as they hustled out, the curlers in her hair still dripping.  
  
"Yes! And did you hear him say he was a hundred years old? He didn't look a day over 35 to me!"  
  
"Uh-huh. And he said he wanted to look just like Marilyn Monroe!"  
  
"Oh," her friend clicked her toungue dissaprovingly. "I think it's so sad whaen a man that's so   
  
hairy and masculine tries to look feminine. He'll never pull it off you know!"  
  
"I *know*, but it's like they said on Jerry Springer, they feel they're a woman trapped in a man's   
  
body..." They were out to the parking lot by that time and mercifully out of range of Logan's super   
  
sensitive hearing. He sighed heavilly and looked up at the expectant Rodney.  
  
"Sorry about the scene, but could ya just fix it bub?"  
  
"Anything for you, handsome!" cooed Rodney, delighted to be back in controll of the situation.   
  
"Just lean back and let Rodney work his magic!" Logan obediantly closed his eyes and let the little  
  
hairdresser work. Behind him, he heard Rogue and Jubilee sigh in unison with relief. The trouble was over,  
  
at least for now. Jubilee in particular knew all this was her fault and had been imagining various dire  
  
newspaper headlines such as..."Orange Haired Mutant Wreaks Havok at Local Salon, Claimes: I Want to be  
  
Marilyn Monroe!" If only the stylist could put Logan's hair back to normal, everything *might* be ok.  
  
But she knew from the look Logan had given her that she would have to pay for this incident one way or  
  
the other and pay *big*. Suddenly a nice vacation to somewhere like Austrailia sounded good. She   
  
pondered her options as Logan submitted to a second, more expert round of scrubbing, soaking and setting. 


End file.
